New York Doc to Blushing Bride. Janice Lynn

about the place.

      Sitting at the funeral home, longing to be anywhere else but in Gloomberg.

      Her fatigue, fear and utter loss.

      Her begging a man she didn’t like to spend the night in her bed because she hadn’t wanted to be alone.

      Oh, yeah, everything came rushing back in vivid color. No doubt her cheeks glowed in vivid color, as well.

      “Good morning,” Sloan greeted her sheepishly, raking his fingers through his dark hair and smiling at her as if waking up in each other’s arms was no big deal. As if the kisses they’d just shared had been no big deal.

      She didn’t do that. John was her one and only and they’d been together years. She was going to marry him, for goodness’ sake!

      “What are you doing?” She ignored his greeting and how absolutely gorgeous he looked first thing in the morning with his tousled black hair and thickly fringed coppery-brown eyes. She went on the attack. Much better to be on the offensive than to have to defend her weakness, to have to explain those kisses. How could she explain what she didn’t understand? “I asked you to hold me, not molest me.”

      The light in his molten eyes morphed into dark confusion. “Molest you?”

      Not giving heed to the guilt that hit her, she pushed against his chest, needing him out of her bed, out of her room, her house, her life. She couldn’t breathe. She needed him gone. He epitomized everything wrong in her life. “It’s time for you to leave.”

      “Stay. Leave. You’re a bossy woman, Cara Conner. Then again, I’d heard that about you more than once. That you’re a leader, not a follower.” He was trying to make light of their situation, to defuse what had just happened between them. Under different circumstances, Cara might have appreciated his teasing, but she felt too raw to let go of the panic inside her. She’d been kissing him, a virtual stranger. She’d enjoyed kissing him! That had to be because of her crazy emotional state over losing her only living relative. Had to be.

      “Don’t act as if you know me. You don’t.” His words were her father’s. She knew that. But these were horrible times. The worst of times. Times of which he’d been the bad-news bearer. She’d made them shoddier by inviting a man she didn’t know to spend the night in her childhood bed. Shame on her.

      They were both still dressed and nothing physical had happened, not really, because that kiss and body grinding so didn’t mean anything. She felt emotionally violated all the same, as if something had passed between them during the long night hours when he’d held her, keeping her body safely tucked next to his and protecting her from whatever demons she’d feared. No one had ever held her that way. Not her father. Certainly not John.

      That didn’t mean she suddenly liked Sloan.

      To prove it to herself, she narrowed her gaze and practically growled at him.

      “You are obviously not a morning person.” Sloan sat up on the side of the bed, raked his fingers through his hair again and shook his head. “For the record, you were the one doing the molesting just then. I was just an innocent victim of your early-morning assault and rather fervent kisses.”

      Cara’s face flamed.

      “Not that I’m complaining, because I’m not. I quite enjoyed what just happened between us. But I won’t take blame for something I didn’t do,” he continued, looking way too handsome to have just woken up. “Not even from someone who looks as beautiful as you.”

      Flattery would get him nowhere. “Innocent victim, my—”

      “Shame. Shame,” he interrupted, wagging his finger at her. “Watch your language. Preston still has his curse-word jar on the kitchen counter. Would hate for you to have to make a donation first thing out of bed.”

      Immediately, all the oxygen left the room.

      Or maybe it was just Cara’s lungs that had become deprived, because Sloan seemed to be breathing just fine.

      How dared he remind her of her father’s curse-word jar?

      What right did he have to tell her about her father’s habits? Did he think she didn’t know? That just because she’d chosen to live her life where she wanted rather than where he wanted her to be made her love her father less somehow? That her location made her forget growing up in this house and her father’s habits? Hardly. She remembered all too well.

      Her anger toward Sloan grew tenfold.

      “Get out of here,” she ordered, focusing all her hurt and frustrations toward him and wondering at how the cold blast didn’t slam him out of her bed and against the wall like a splattered bug against a windshield. “Now, before I call the law and have you forcibly removed.”

      Looking way too calm for someone under attack, Sloan glanced at the wristwatch he still wore.

      “I need to go home and shower,” he said calmly, as if she had just made a comment about the weather rather than demand he leave. “I’ll round at the hospital, and then will be back in a little over an hour with breakfast and coffee with all the fixings. Hopefully, you’ll have a better disposition at that time. Be ready to go.”

      Hello. Was he daft? Or just deaf? “I don’t want breakfast or a better disposition.” Which sounded very childish, even to her own ears. But she had a lot to deal with today and that kiss wasn’t going to be added to the list. “I don’t want you to come back. I want you to leave my house and never come back.”

      “Your car is at the funeral home. You need to eat.” Could he sound any more calm? Any more logical?

      “You have a long day ahead of you,” he reminded her, not that she needed reminding of what the day held. “I will be back, will feed you and will drive you to the funeral home. I want to help you, Cara.”

      “No, you’ve helped enough.” Lord, she didn’t mean to sound so ungrateful. “Don’t come back. I can feed myself.” Not that she felt as if she’d ever be able to eat again with the nausea gripping her stomach. “I’ll find another ride to the funeral home.”

      She’d walk if it meant not riding with him, not having to look at him and feel the total mortification that she felt because she’d asked him, no, begged him to stay with her because she’d been afraid to be alone. Her only excuse was that she’d been exhausted and full of grief. This morning, well, she’d thought she was kissing John. Surely. Otherwise she never would have… Oh! Why was she trying to justify her actions in her head where Sloan Trenton was concerned? She didn’t owe him anything.

      “Just go.” She slumped forward, burying her face against her hugged-up knees.

      “This is crazy, Cara,” he told her gently, obviously a man of great patience. He touched her shoulder, but she couldn’t bear his touch and jerked away.

      “Today is going to be rough enough on both of us without you treating me like I’m your enemy,” he pointed out.

      He probably thought her crazy. No wonder. She thought he was a little crazy, too, for remaining so calm when she felt so… so… agitated… and aware that he was in her bed beside her. Hadn’t that kiss frazzled him in the slightest?

      “What is your problem with me, anyway?” He genuinely sounded confused.

      “Who said I had a problem with you?” she countered, hugging her knees even tighter.

      “Just a wild guess.”

      “Then why are you still here?” For that matter, why was she still in bed with him? Was she really so stubborn that she refused to be the one to get out of the bed when she thought he was the one who should leave?

      “You asked me to stay.”

      Again, his calm and logic irritated her further. She glanced over at him. His expression said there was more to it and she didn’t like the knowing spark in his eyes, as if he knew something she didn’t.

      “That